Confabulation
by Gryffindwhore
Summary: In psychology, confabulation is a memory disturbance; to remember something opposite of the way it actually happened... A collection of Lily/James oneshots. Au and Cannon.
1. Chapter 1

The One Where They're Both Drunk

AU.

You met her in the late summer, when the sun dipped behind the horizon and the bass of a rock concert thumped and reverberated behind you. You left the packed club for a smoke and saw her there, leaning on the brick walls, nursing a bottle if jack and a cigarette. You saw her, head leaned back to let out a breath, smoke rising from her red lips as her equally red hair trailed behind her, an you knew your life was over. Or maybe it'd just begun. You didn't know, but you knew you wanted to find out which it was.

That night was fire and explosions. You were both dizzy with excitement and drunkenness, and quite a lot of nicotine floating through your system. She was on fire, and when you told her as much, she threw back her head and laughed, saying it wasn't the first time she'd heard a joke about her hair. And that wasn't what you meant, but you were never good with words, and the alcohol made you fumble even more, so you kissed her instead. And you pulled her close and you groaned into her mouth because it was true, and it wasn't true. She wasn't just on fire. She was fire. She was warm and bright and crackling with intensity and you didn't even know her, but you knew that. So instead of breaking the kiss, you found a wall to push her up against in the crowded club just so the moment would keep going, so you didn't have to pull away.

She pulled away first, and you had a moment of panic that the real world would seep into the serenity that you'd created, but she quirked her lips and suggested that you leave the club...together. And you were powerless to refuse, not that you'd ever want to. You walked home, fumbling and laughing and leaning on each other for support, and stopping in dark alleys for a quick kiss up against the buildings every now an then.

When you reached your place and finally-finally-figured out how to work the key, it was the same: fumbling and laughing and kissing, but this time there was no outside world to encroach on you and a trail of clothes littered the floor. And when you fell together, it was like magic. It was far from perfect; you were both still drunk, after all, but perfection is rarely attainable, and you had to settle with 'mind blowing' or 'amazing'.

In the morning, she gets dressed and introduces herself for the first time as "Lily Evans, thanks for the fuck" and she's leaving and that's fine-it should be fine-but you just realized that you never wanted it to be a drunken fuck and a 'thanks, goodbye', and you're not quite sure how to handle that information.

But she's leaving and you can't just let her go because Sirius says that 'what ifs' are worse than bad experiences and you tend to agree. So, you prop yourself up on one arm, still half lying on the bed, and introduce yourself as "James Potter, fancy another?" With that cocky grin that you know is most likely turning her off because you know you sound like an ass. But she doesn't frown and call you out, she laughs, bending down to slip on her shoes and walking out with one last look over her shoulder. You lay in bed alone, the grin you wore fading, and try to ignore the swooping disappointment inside of you.

Later, when you finally pull yourself out of bed and into the shower, your grin returns when you see a phone number scrawled on your mirror in familiar red lipstick.

* * *

**_Author's note:_**

_Yay for oneshots! I wrote this a few days ago because my friend was sad and stressed. This one (and actually a lot of my others) is for her. It's not great; I haven't really edited it, and I might still, but I wanted to get it up because I want to start posting some of my one shots here so there's that._

_If you're wondering, I'm still writing Staggered Hearts, I just tend to procrastinate on things that I actually want to have done. _

_-Meg_


	2. Chapter 2

18 and in love.

She's young and stupid. She still blushes when he looks at her a certain way, with fire burning slowly in his warm brown eyes. Everyone wonders why she chose him; she used to hate him, after all. But she can't get over the way her heart seems to expand when they're together, like her rib cage is about to burst open from the pressure. She's never been in love like this before and she hates him a bit for making her feel like this, but then again, she's got to forgive him because she knows she's done the same to him.

He's young and stupid, and he still can't imagine that she wants to be with him like this. He can't quite believe they've come so far; from raging and fighting and hurtful words to friendship and love and happiness. Everyone wonders why he chose her; they were always at odds with each other, after all. But he loves the spark in her; he wouldn't change her quick, fiery temper for a second. The pure_ life_ that springs out from her is enough to leave him incandescent. He fell in love with her ages ago, without realizing it, and now he's finally got her; they've finally got each other, and he's never letting go.

They're finally not at war with each other, but they're fighting a war. Everyone tells her she's making things worse, that it's because of her that he'll get in trouble, but she can't bring herself to be anything but selfish. She fights harder because of it. Because she promises herself that she won't be the death of him. Everyone tells him that it's not worth it. That she'll be the first to die, the one they make an example of because of his choices. And so he fights harder because he can't imagine a world that she's not in. He doesn't want to.

Their mentor, the face of the resistance, tells them that love is the most important weapon they possess. He's called a crazy hippie by many people, but they choose to believe him, because it's the only weapon they truly have.

They both fight harder because they both want to imagine a world where their love isn't dirty or wrong.

19 and married.

She's not wearing white—if her grandmother could see her, she'd throw a fit—instead, she's wearing a mint green, lacy sundress that she borrowed from Alice and carrying a bouquet of wildflowers that someone had picked from outside, just for decorum. Someone jokes about substituting a tablecloth as a veil, but she ignores them, focusing on the fact that she's getting _married_ finally and even though this is a sorry excuse for a wedding, she can't find it in her to be upset.

He's more nervous than he expected. He stands at the front of the room that had been hastily transformed into a wedding venue, fiddling anxiously with his clothes, which are far too casual for the occasion. Sirius, looking more put together than he has in a while, stands at his side and smiles reassuringly. His friend nods to the back of the room, so he turns, his breath catching when his eyes land on her, walking carefully on the arm of his werewolf best friend. His nervousness disappears, replaced by awe.

She squeezes Remus's arm tightly as they walk slowly towards the men at the front of their room. Her eye catches Sirius's first, and she returns the grin that he gives her. Then, her eyes find his and the world drops away, as it always does. She's still walking towards him, but it's faster now, probably faster than the beat of the tinkling, slightly scratchy music from the gramophone that someone had set up. She reaches him and gives Remus a kiss on the cheek before he goes to sit down with the rest of the meager crowd. And as she turns to him, she can feel the love radiating off of him, and she can see it in the way he smiles at her as he takes her hands. She never realized that you could feel love-that it was tangible-until him.

He's trying to pay attention to the old man reciting ceremonial speeches, but it's impossible to pay attention to anyone but her. He drinks in the blush on her cheeks, the sunlight glimmering in her hair, the mist in her jewel green eyes and the grin that's stretched across her face, the one that only dims when Dumbledore asks them to remember those who have fallen for a moment. She's radiant, even in her borrowed clothes. He's seen her like this plenty of times, but he thinks that that's the best part: that he'll never get used to her.

The wedding is far from traditional for either of them. She always imagined a stiff white dress with a train and champagne in a Catholic Church with her whole family in attendance. He always thought he might be dressed nicer, and that his parents would be alive to see him off. They don't truly have a choice, though. Moody told them about the law that morning when they'd reported to headquarters. 'No mixed-blood marriages' he huffed. 'Takes effect by Monday.'

So, they throw away their preconceptions and they and their closest friends and allies plan a wedding in less than twelve hours. They are married by their old headmaster in front of the Order that they fight with, after which they head out to patrols instead of a honeymoon, because evil doesn't take a day off and neither do they.

20 and pregnant

At first, she thinks the nausea is from the concussion she got a week ago. It's not unusual for her to get hurt on missions. It's not the first time she hit her head, but she thought she was over it. Until, that is, she starts throwing up. She doesn't realize until the sixth consecutive day of sickness that it's not the head trauma. Instead, it's much worse. At the hospital, a nurse smiles at her and offers her congratulations, so she forces a 'thank you' and a smile, but she's screaming inside. And really, now that she knows, she can't imagine how she didn't figure it out before, when her clothes started getting tighter and her food tastes changing a bit.

It wouldn't be such a strange thing if not for the circumstances, is the one logical thought in her mind. She's having other thoughts of course. The 'this is an incredible mistake', 'what the fuck are we going to do', 'I'm so stupid, God, I'm so dim' and 'this can't be happening' are the most prevalent of those, but if she stops her panic to think, she realizes that having a baby at 20 is a perfectly reasonable thing to do. Except that they are fighting in a war, one they're not sure they are winning. One that took too many lives already, no matter what the outcome may be.

He finds her in the kitchen, sitting straight and stiff, staring straight ahead into space and holding a piece of white muggle paper in her hands. Before she even tells him why she's upset, he's on red alert. He's never seen her like this before; this confused and angry, sad and broken all at the same time. And then, she does tell him. She's blunt and truthful, holding in emotions that threaten to break loose, visible just under the surface of her strained expression. Just a simple, 'I'm pregnant'. She hands him the paper; it's a medical report, confirming her statement. Even with all of the simplicity, he doesn't understand at first. He stands beside the table, hands hanging limp at his sides, and wonders what that can possibly mean. And then, of course, his brain catches up with him and he falls on to a conveniently summoned chair. He doesn't know what to do with the information she gives him. What would they do with a child? How in the world can they possibly take care of it? He knows it's a cliché, but it's true: they're still kids; how will they raise one?

They sit in silence for what seems like hours. Then, slowly, instincts take effect she stands up, pulls their best whiskey from the cabinet, pours him a much larger portion than his normal intake, and pushes it towards him. He throws back the entire glass in one gulp, and she pulls him to the living room, gently pushing him on the couch and curling up around him. She comforts him and he lets her, knowing that it's probably helping her as much as him. 'You're going to be a great mother', he says, and feels her hands clench reflexively for a moment.

'We have no clue what we're doing' she replies softly, nerves, fear and panic stealing her breath. It's the first time she's spoken since that one sentence in the kitchen. But when she says it she breaks the invisible barrier that she's built and the rest of the words come pouring out. 'We don't know what we're doing, and we don't know how long we'll live. Christ, James, we have near-death experiences at least once a week. We're fighting for our lives. We can't bring a child into this world.' She claps her hand over her mouth as sobs cause her whole body to shake and heave.

Now it's his turn to do the comforting, while she's bent over him, contorted in a way that makes her seem smaller than she's ever been. The panicked speech she just gave has made him realize how fucked they truly are. He was replaying a similar monologue in his mind, but to hear them out loud made them too real. He has to admit to himself that for once, he's way out of his depth. So he hugs her, envelopes her in him and whispers how much he loves her, and how they're in this together, because she'd never be able to get rid of him anyway.

They're more scared than they've ever been. They have no clue what they're doing. The future is so unclear that even living another day is ambiguous. But they know they've got each other, and that's enough for them.

21 and Undercover

Stir crazy is what she's feeling, but it's probably the understatement of the century. It's difficult enough to leave active duty after she found out about the pregnancy, but stuck in these four walls for the foreseeable future isn't exactly how she pictured raising a child. By now, she imagines she should expect to be thrown for loops, but she'd never been more shocked to hear that her son, the toddler sleeping peacefully in an upstairs nursery, was the target of a dark magic mad man. In the confines of the kitchen, with background music in the form of lively conversation between her husband and his adoptive brother, she can think about how her life ended up this way. How everyone knew there was a mole in the order, but no one was talking about it. How a wedge had been driven in the Marauders because of the suspicion being thrown on both Sirius and Remus, and more so Sirius' suspicion of Remus. They refuse to work together now, which puts more strain on them all than she expected. And, the fact that no one has seen Peter for a while. Peter, whose loyalties she would never question, but who never dealt well under stress, and is now dealing with a secret that could determine her entire family's mortality. For all that Sirius believes in him, Lily still worries.

He hasn't gone out on a mission in ages. He should have expected to miss it, but he didn't think it'd be this bad. This cagy, fidgety mess he's become is making everyone anxious. He wishes he could get back into the action; he misses helping, or at least feeling like he was helping, but he knows it's not possible. So instead, he and Lily take little adventures, like chancing the muggle park with Harry or going to the local pub with the boys for an hour or two. He's worried too. He sees the weariness on his wife's face. They're young; they're supposed to be trying new things and getting into trouble, and instead they're stay-at-home parents. She always has a smile for him, but he sees it slip when she thinks he isn't looking. She should know better; he's always looking. He knows she's putting on a brave face, and he pretends with her, except for those rare times, usually late at night and after they've put Harry to bed, when her strong exterior cracks just enough to let him see inside. He's very aware that he's out of his depth. This isn't a 'kiss it and make it better' problem, but he kisses her anyway, because maybe he'll be able to show her that he's here and he's not going anywhere ever.

They hold on to each other tighter than ever at those times. They make sure that 'I love you' is always a priority. They do their best to be good parents and make sure their son has anything he needs. They're still fighting, just in different ways. They both know how fragile their life—their family—is.

They mediate between their fighting friends. They do simple, boring, housekeeping chores that should 'have to wait' but don't because what else have they to do? They play with their toddler and their cat. They try to be thankful for their seclusion, because at least that means they're alive.

22 and Dead

It's barely been six months since Halloween, but the little house in Godric's Hollow looks completely different. Gone are the meticulously cared for shrubs and flowers that surrounded the place; they're replaced with overgrown vines and weeds. There's still snow on the ground in some places, but the plants have already taken over, as if the lot has sat empty for several years. In the center of town, there's a statue. The muggles see something geometric and run down, with trash littering its base, but those with magic see it for what it really is: the family that gave their lives to save them all. Flowers are heaped at the stone feet of the young couple, their faces set in permanent serious masks that everyone who knew them knows don't exactly fit. Every now and then, someone in a queer outfit passes and murmurs the words 'Lest we forget', yet these people come less and less often now. Across town, at the tiny church graveyard, there's one stone that's still new. It doesn't say much: just their names, their birth and death days, and one simple quote, 'The last enemy to be destroyed is death'.

A handful of people know what happened that night. One of them pays for it in a magical jail that steals your soul. One of them turns on their old life, whether for vengeance, or repentance, no one knows. One sniffles and squeaks and hides until his new master calls him back. One is blown away, like dust in the wind, by magic even he can't fight. And one lives in a tiny room under some stairs, completely unaware of what he, or his family that fell before him, has done for the world.

* * *

_So there's that. I wrote this at work a while ago. It's not edited or anything, but I wanted to post something, and I actually really like this one. Hope you do too!_

_-Meg_


End file.
